Find Her, Fix Him

1 | An angel

I really don't have the time to wait around in a queue this long. Dad wakes up around this time, and since I had to tell the nurse to stop coming over then I have to be there for him to take his temperature. And watch over him whilst he takes his pills.

"Look...miss..." I peer at the -name-badge pinned to the assistant's shirt, trying to read the scrawl, "Ilah-"

"That's an L at the start, not an I."

"Right, sorry. Lilah...look," I abandon the useless bag-search and try to look really intent as I meet her eye, "I have a problem here. I need to get home to my Dad in literally five minutes, so I don't really have time to wait-"

"I'll pay."

I wheel around to see who has spoken, almost tripping over my coat, which I dumped on the floor during my bag-search. The boy standing behind me is one whose face I recognise instantly, but whose name I can't immediately place. He's wearing the same uniform as me- with trousers rather than a skirt, obviously- and I know him at once as the boy who joined my year about two weeks back. We haven't really crossed paths, even in school- he is one of those kids who was lucky enough to be immediately adopted by the popular group, so therefore not having to face the usual new-person problems of making friends. As me and the popular group don't exactly mix too often, the only times I've seen this boy are across the playground as he laughs with his friends, or on the football pitch.

I rack my brains desperately, trying to recall a name. The boy has skin that is the colour of coffee, and dark hair, and eyes that are grey with a bit of green in them. Those unusual eyes are on me now, watching as my face goes through all the shades of red in the colour chrome as I try to think of what to say in return.

Maybe he takes my silence as me not having heard him the first time,because he repeats, "I'll pay for your stuff. If you...don't have the money. With you."

The way he words the sentence makes it sound like I've simply forgotten my cash at home, not that I don't have it at all. I wonder if he said it like that deliberately to save me a bit of embarrassment, and feel stupidly grateful. Then I immediately feel just stupid.

"I- I can't really take your money," I say, and some sort of weird stutter has come into my voice that makes me cringe, "I-"

I dread to think what Dad would say if he found out I'd let someone else pay for our groceries. That's practically the same as begging- and Dad is always saying that as long as we keep our dignity and pride, it will keep us off the streets. I hate to tell him that pride won't pay for stupidly overpriced baked beans.

"Honestly, just take it. You'd be doing the whole queue a favour."

I swallow, realising what this offer is about. Not just kindness, but impatience at how I'm holding everyone's day up. I risk glancing towards the long line of people waiting behind me, and immediately cringe at the expressions on their faces. One of the old men is actually muttering something under his breath about the selfish youth.

"Right. Uh..." I guess I have to look as if I'm considering his offer, even if I really have no choice and I know it. "That's really kind of you. Thanks."

"No problem." He flashes me a quick smile, but it's one of those that doesn't reach the eyes. I start to stretch my hand out towards him to take the money, then realise I look like a beggar. I retract quickly. Seeming to notice my dilemma, the boy takes hold of my hand and places a five-pound note into it, before folding my fingers down over it and smiling at me again.

"There you go. You're welcome."

"Uh- thanks. Again." I feel like smacking my head against a wall. I sound like a total idiot, not like a strong, independent woman who doesn't need a male to survive. Even if right now, I kind of do need this male to survive. Food equals survival, doesn't it?